


Entr'acte

by FictionPenned



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alex asked why we even have this lever, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24574654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionPenned/pseuds/FictionPenned
Summary: They lock eyes across the crowded bar, cutting through the dim light and the haze of smoke and the buzz of other people.The Doctor knows those eyes far too well, and she panics.Her world was ripped apart not all that long ago, and she still feels like she’s in free fall. Her planet was destroyed. She’s mourning the loss of her people, a process complicated by the realization that she was never really one of them. Her fam left her for dead. She has an old enemy at her back. She spent months unraveled in solitary confinement, obsessing over missing time that she cannot seem to recover, no matter how hard she pushes.On top of all that, Bill Potts is staring at her, and she’s staring back.Bill and the Thirteenth Doctor have a chance encounter. Written for Thirteen Fanzine Prompt Week Day 6: Eyes.
Relationships: The Doctor & Bill Potts, Thirteenth Doctor & Bill Potts
Comments: 11
Kudos: 122





	Entr'acte

They lock eyes across the crowded bar, cutting through the dim light and the haze of smoke and the buzz of other people.

The Doctor knows those eyes far too well, and she panics.

Her world was ripped apart not all that long ago, and she still feels like she’s in free fall. Her planet was destroyed. She’s mourning the loss of her people, a process complicated by the realization that she was never really one of them. Her fam left her for dead. She has an old enemy at her back. She spent months unraveled in solitary confinement, obsessing over missing time that she cannot seem to recover, no matter how hard she pushes.

On top of all that, Bill Potts is staring at her, and she’s staring back.

Bill takes it as an invitation and approaches.

The Doctor’s fear intensifies. Twin heartbeats pound in her ears and the bitter tang of worry spreads across the back of her tongue. She is still haunted by that foolish step forward, that moment of hubris that put Bill in harm’s way. She throws herself in front of people now. Keeps them close. Shoves them back. Throws herself on top of sonic bombs so that they rip her body apart and not theirs.

Bill died, and it was her fault.

She can’t even apologize for it, because for Bill, it hasn’t happened yet.

The Doctor looks around in alarm, seeking out both an escape and the tall, imposing specter of her younger self. She has no interest in dealing in paradoxes today. She has enough on her plate.

Bill’s close, there’s an extra drink in her hand and the Doctor can practically feel her breath on her skin as she says, “Hey.”

The Doctor acts  on instinct. She grabs the front of Bill’s shirt and drops to the floor, tugging the confused woman down with her. The drinks in Bill’s hands slosh over their edges, but they do not spill. The floor is sticky and gross and she wrinkles her nose, but she shoves the observation aside. She’ll deal with it later. For now, there’s far more pressing matters to attend to. 

"Is _he_ with you?" the Doctor hisses, barely audible over the noise of the bar.

Bill blinks. "Who?"

"Oh, y'know --" The Doctor’s head tilts and her forehead creases as she gathers up the lingering remnants of that identity into a passable description. "Tall fellow, questionable eyebrows, tries to pass himself off as a professor but clearly isn't, big fan of meting out impossible challenges like they're eggs and he's an abnormally holiday-centric rabbit."

Perhaps the last point is a bit petty of her, but she's fairly sure she's earned the right. It was more than a bit unfair of him to demand that she let go of their shared history and then pop off right before losing Gallifrey. Again.

“You mean the Doctor? Do you know him?” Bill’s gaze darts down to the hand still gripping her shirt before fixing on the Doctor’s again. She raises one of the drinks to her lips and takes a steady sip. 

“Sort of. Bit complicated.” The Doctor cranes her neck upward, looking around at the faces of the strangers who surround them. Her fingers finally release their vice grip on Bill’s shirt, and she wipes her palms on her trousers. “He’s not here is he?” 

“No. He’d rather die than be in a place like this, probably. Why? Y’all date or something?” Bill’s voice dances in amusement, and she crosses her legs, accepting her fate as a floor-sitter. 

“ _What?_ No.” Shock scribes itself across the Doctor’s face as her eyes drop back towards Bill. 

“Student?” Bill holds the second drink out to the Doctor. Hesitantly, the Doctor accepts it. “You’re not a colleague. I’d know.” 

The Doctor takes a gulp of the drink and almost immediately coughs. It’s been a long time since she’s indulged in alcohol. As a substance, it doesn’t really have much of an effect on Time Lord physiology — ginger is far more efficient if you’re in need of a buzz — but that does not change the fact that it tastes unpleasant.

She pretends not to see the realization that flashes on Bill’s face. 

Bill’s always been too bright for her own good. Notices everything, and remembers all of it.

Bill leans forward, glancing about conspiratorially as she spins the stirrer in her glass. “Are you a Time Lord, too?” The question is hushed, barely loud enough for the Doctor to hear.

A chill sinks into the Doctor’s skin. She ought to lie, ought to flub her way towards a good story, ought to flash psychic paper and see what comes of it, but guilt keeps mistruths at bay. She’s wronged Bill enough times. She can’t do it again. So she serves up the truth, as uncertain and indelicate as it is.

“Maybe? Kind of? Dunno, it’s all gone a bit wonky lately.”

Curiosity lifts Bill’s brows as she takes another sip of her drink. “How do you not know what species you are?”

The Doctor bristles. “How do you know what species _you_ are? Do you sense it? Did you come with a label? Attention: human inside?”

“Oh my god.” The words are slow at first, but they come much faster the second time. “ _Oh my god_.” Bill’s wide eyes skate over the awkwardly-sized jacket, the suspenders, an expression older than Western Civilization. She’s putting the pieces together. The aggressive and oddly phrased questions, the cough, the presumptuous pull to the ground.

The Doctor’s hearts sink, and she leans into the comfortable embrace of denial. “No! No, I—“

“You’re him, aren’t you? Oh my god, you’re him. He mentioned it once. The face-changing, didn’t think much of it, but…” Bill trails off, finishing her drink in one fell swoop before depositing on the floor next to her with a clink of glass on wood. “Just my luck, isn’t it? Catch a pretty woman staring at me in the bar and it’s _you_.” 

The Doctor can’t manage to find her tongue, but her silence speaks volumes. 

“You’re from the future, yeah?” Bill continues. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be worried about running into yourself.”

The Time Lord swallows, and she nods. 

“How far?”

“A bit.”

A laugh spills from Bill’s lips. “Good to know you still get all quiet when you lose control of a conversation. Don’t think I don’t notice it.”

“I never thought you missed anything.” 

The tenses strain the air between them. Most people would ask about the future. Ask what happened, but Bill doesn’t. Perhaps it’s born of fear, or more likely, perhaps it’s born of the simple acceptance that sometimes life takes unexpected turns and people part ways. The thought breathes a bit of life into the Doctor’s eyes, cutting through the grief and the worry and the panic and the thousands of years of baggage. Bill has always been _exceptional_. 

The Doctor takes another ungraceful sip of her drink, allowing the temptation to swirl around in her mouth. 

She shouldn’t do this. It comes perilously close to meddling with her own timelines, but she owes Bill a debt. 

“Come with me.”

“Is that allowed?” 

“When have I ever worried about what’s allowed? It’s not like anyone’s watching, and so long as you don’t tell —“ the Doctor points at her eyebrows — “y’know, past me, it won’t break anything. Or, at least, it shouldn’t break anything. It’s all a bit flexible anyway. Puts up with a lot more mess than you'd expect, the universe.” 

Stormy grey coattails swirl as she scrambles to her feet, and she extends a hand towards her old friend. 

Bill hesitates, tongue pressed against the back of her teeth. “You sure?”

“Mostly. Sure in every way that counts, at least. Always a bit of uncertainty, isn't there? But I know you, that's half the fun, isn't it?”

Hesitation falls away. 

Hands meet, and the Doctor pulls Bill to her feet. 

“Well then, Bill Potts, where would you like to start?”


End file.
